Lessons in Morality
by petite etoile22
Summary: Harry looks in at the two ghosts occupying the hospital room before him, and once more ponders the existence of fate.


_**Author's note: **So this is my first substantial story in a couple of months, and I'd just like to thank Odainath for helping me with the split time format, for reading all the drafts and for all the suggestions and corrections. You're a star._

_**Disclaimer:** Spooks belongs to BBC/Kudos productions._

* * *

_Yesterday_

He bursts into the hospital, Jo following close behind. They'd started driving as soon as Malcolm had received the call, their impatience getting the better of them. It takes several minutes of coercion (and a couple of threats) before they are pointed in the direction of their desired destination. It is only when they reach the correct floor that his younger companion chooses to hang back.

"You go on ahead Harry. I'll wait here."

"Jo, you don't have to-"

"I insist. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Alright," he nods briefly in a gesture of thanks, before hurrying down the sterile corridor.

Harry looks in at the two ghosts currently occupying the hospital room before him, and once more ponders the existence of fate. The paler ghost is asleep; her hands and wrists in casts, and an IV drip administering nutrition and pain medication. The brunette smiles when she sees him hovering in the doorway.

"Hello Harry."

"Ruth," he exhales softly.

_

* * *

Ten days ago._

Ruth blinks slowly until the black spots before her eyes disperse. Her head is pounding and her neck is incredibly sore, but other than that, she can't sense any more life-threatening injuries. It is only when she pulls herself further up the wall that she realises she's not alone. In the far corner, shrouded in shadow, lies a shape that is unmistakably human. Ruth bites back a whimper at the thought of being housed with a corpse. She releases her breath when the shape shifts slightly; not a corpse, a person.

A person on the verge of being a corpse.

The shape retches several times before the faint splatter of vomit hitting concrete can be heard.

"Are you alright?" she asks softly.

Silence.

"I said, are you alright?"

The voice is hoarse and strained, but Ruth would recognise its sharp, sarcastic edge anywhere.

"Please tell me you're not who I think you are."

"Ros, is that you?"

"No, it's Mother Teresa."

"Well, you certainly haven't dulled in my time away...How is everyone?"

If Ros heard her question, she chooses to ignore it.

"Ros?"

"Harry's fine," she eventually snaps.

Ruth decides to leave the matter for the time being, choosing instead to switch to a decidedly more sombre subject.

"How long have you been here?"

"If you want to attempt small talk, you'll have better luck with the wall behind you."

_

* * *

Four months ago._

The news bulletin has appeared on-screen 25 times in the past hour. She stares stoically at the fire-destroyed wreckage, and a small part of her wishes that there was something among the twisted metal and dying flames to show her that it was really Adam who had been in that car. Just one little thing that didn't make the newsreader's lies sound so plausible. He'd saved countless lives, but his actions would only be remembered as a 'terrorist's' cock-up. Ros takes another steady sip of the cheap hotel wine when the bulletin flashes up yet again. She should never have come back; she didn't belong here anymore, to all intents and purposes, she was just a dead woman in London. At least in Moscow she was a dead woman walking. A sharp knock on the door pulls the blonde from her reverie, and she slowly stands up to answer it.

The subsequent blow to her head tells Ros he's not here to offer his condolences.

Positioning herself on the balls of her feet, she hopes the imminent fight will go in her favour. Her attacker lunges, and she is just able to deflect the blow before landing a kick of her own which sends him stumbling backwards, sweeping objects from the cabinet surface as he travels. The blonde's eyes dart quickly round the room, searching for something she can use as a makeshift weapon. The green orbs finally settle on the mirror residing in the corner, and there is an almighty crash as she hurls the cafetiere at it before grabbing a shard. The mystery assailant hisses as she only manages to nick his palm before he has her wrist in a vice-like grip.

"Shit," Ros grunts as she is hurled against the en-suite door, small splinters skittering over her neck and she tries to regain her footing. She's barely upright before his hand is round her neck, pulling her against his chest. Ros kicks backwards repeatedly, her actions becoming frantic as the sweet-smelling cloth is placed over her mouth and nose. There is another, duller crash as he sweeps her up into his arms before heading out of the room. Through sheer bad luck, they make it all the way out to the pavement by the staff exit before attracting attention from a warm-faced, suited man.

"I'm sorry, but is everything alright?" he inquires softly.

"We're fine, my wife's just had a bit too much to drink. I'm taking her home now, my car's just there."

"Would you like some help?"

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," her captor smiles, shifting her position slightly to unlock the car door by remote. "Thanks," he says as his unwitting assistant opens the door for him to load Ros carefully on the back seat.

"I hope your wife feels better in the morning."

"I'm sure she will," he assures, pulling away from the curb with another enigmatic smile.

_

* * *

Seven days ago._

Ruth paces the floor of her cell, wondering for the hundredth time since they took Ros away if she'll ever see the frosty blonde again. There's no real attachment (they've barely exchanged more than three words since her disastrous conversation attempt), but Ros is a tenuous link to Harry and she'd like to hold on to that for a little while longer. When they return her companion, she's dripping with water and gasping for air. Ruth looks at the shivering woman and knows that she has to do something. She doesn't know why she's so nervous about handing over a jumper (a layer she can spare anyway) to this woman who's so obviously going to catch her death if she doesn't.

"Here," she whispers, throwing the jumper the short distance across their cell. The blonde regards it for a moment. "Just put it on. You need to keep warm and dry."

If Ros is tempted to make a scathing comeback, she holds her tongue, choosing instead to change into the baggy, knitted garment instead. A slight nod of the head is her only indication of thanks. Sleep eludes Ruth that night, and although she can hear the measured breathing in the darkness, she knows that Ros is suffering the same fate.

"Zaf's dead. Adam too."

"Oh."

"I just thought you might like to know," she states, as if the demise of two colleagues was the same as a change in train schedule.

"How?"

"Zaf was garroted, and Adam died in an explosion."

Ruth takes a deep breath before asking her next question, unsure if she wants the answer. "Ros, what do they do in there? I mean, what happens exactly..."

"They offer you tea and apologise for the poor accommodation."

"Ros-"

"I don't know why you're so eager for details," Ros cuts in. "You'll find out soon enough."

Ruth hears shuffling in the darkness, and guesses that Ros has decided to end the conversation and get some rest. She sighs before settling down in 'her' corner; at least she got more than three words out of the woman this time.

_

* * *

Five months ago._

The early afternoon sunlight dances across the river's surface, causing Ruth to wonder why no matter what life she leads, she is always drawn to embankments. There is no bench this time. When she first walked away from life, the prospect of moving on seemed unbearable. Now the pain has dulled into something that is manageable, and capable of being forgotten on some days. She's feeling rather nostalgic and can't help but give a slight smile when she thinks about what life in London would be like right now. Ruth knows that some of friends will be gone (in either sense of the word) and although the thought saddens her, it also gives her a morbid reassurance that some things never change. She mutters quietly to herself upon realising the time, and sprints to the quaint bookstore where she works, briefly nodding at her colleague when she arrives.

"There you are! I was about to send out a search party for you, you're never late!"

"Sorry Lisa, lost track of time."

"Don't be, I was hardly run off my feet while you were gone."

Ruth laughs softly before joining the young woman behind the counter, pushing all thoughts (and dreams) of her past aside. Despite everything, despite Harry, she never dreams of her return to Section D. That's just too painful, and Ruth has never been one for torture.

_

* * *

Three months ago_

The shock is etched onto Jo's features as Connie leads her up to the roof. She feels sorry for the girl, particularly after everything that has occurred these past few months; first Zaf, then the Redbacks, followed by Adam's death and Ros' disappearance. The blonde girl is trembling so much that she has to light her cigarette. There is a brief silence, and Connie watches the tendrils of smoke that escape through a shaky exhalation of breath. Jo seems ready to break at any moment, and they really can't afford her to.

"I think he had a wife. She'll be getting the news right now."

"Jo, because of that man's actions, scores of wives won't be getting that news."

"Ros would've told me to pull myself together," Jo laughs, but it is strained and brittle.

"Yes," the older woman concedes, "but-"

"But she's not here now, is she?" Jo takes a long drag of her cigarette. "Zaf was dead by now. I just can't see why they'd take her, nobody knew she was alive and from what I've heard, the Moscow op wasn't major. Malcolm keeps telling me we'll find her but Zaf was dead by now. His torturers had killed him by now; I saw the bloody pictures!"

"You need to calm down. There's only two outcomes to this situation; we get her back, or we don't. Ros will hold out for as long as she can."

Jo knows that Connie is right, but she can't help but remember her own brief time with similar people, and the thought of enduring that for this current length of time horrifies her to the point of numbness. Ros, despite appearances to the contrary, is human after all; even the 'strongest' humans have breaking points.

"And what if she can't hold out?"

"Then she'll do the right thing," replies Connie with a dejected smile.

_

* * *

Five days ago._

The blonde still hasn't fully recovered from her recent water-torture session, causing Ruth to insist that she keep the jumper. In the weak sunlight, she notes how the piece of clothing highlights just how thin Ros Myers has become. Weight that should never have been lost, seems to have dropped off and then some. Her locks are now a dirty blonde (in every sense) and Ruth can see the matted patches where the water hasn't been able to fully wash away the dried blood. She is just about to speak when the door slowly swings open, though Ros appears not to have noticed as her back still remains to the doorway.

"Well Ruth, I think it's time for you and I to have nice chat. I've a feeling you have some information in that pretty little head of yours which will be very useful to some friends of mine."

Ruth's body freezes from terror, and she can't help the prickling sensation in her eyes even though she refuses to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

"Right," Ros snorts, "and the Russians are still looking for 'Rangefinder'."

The word seems to have set something off in their host's mind, and before Ruth regains the ability to move, Ros is already being dragged out of the concrete room by her hair.

The screaming starts shortly after.

Ruth doesn't know what to do when it doesn't stop by early evening. She doesn't even know which is worse; the screaming or the brief silences in between.

"_I don't fucking know!"_

The brunette shivers involuntarily, drawing her knees up to her chest. It has to end soon, no one can hold out this long. Then again, she thinks to herself, no one is Rosalind Myers. A long period of silence follows, and just when she thinks it to be over, the screams start up again. To her horror, she deduces that Ros must have passed out until they 'helped' her regain consciousness. Ruth forces herself to drown out the screams when they become incoherent and barely human.

_

* * *

Eleven days ago._

When they eventually come for Ruth, it is far more civilised than she ever expected it to be. There is just a man, with an ID card and a slightly too charming smile.

"If you'd like to come with us Miss Evershed?"

"Of course."

She's barely started to run before she feels a sharp prick in her side. The man with the too charming smile merely waits, as if she were an uncooperative child. Ruth slides along the wall for support, her legs failing her by the second. She knows why he's probably here, and her first thought is that of Harry and his well-being. She'd died for him; if they know she's alive, what else do they know? Ruth's train of thought stops rather abruptly and her world fades to black.

"You're a damn sight easier than that blonde bitch," the charming man mutters as he slams the boot door shut.

_

* * *

Three days ago._

Harry stares at the visiting order from Jocelyn Myers, and wonders how he's going to tell him that his only daughter is probably never coming home because some pen-pusher somewhere has forced the search onto the back-burner. The problem with dead spies is that they're only of value when they can be put to use, and when they eventually fade like spectres often do, they're virtually impossible to find. Jo's sudden entrance drags him from his morbid thoughts.

"A safe-house has been breached. Well, a decommissioned safe-house."

"Two more have just been attacked; one with a molotov," Lucas adds, sticking his head through the door.

"Okay, pull up all the information you can. I want to know why these specific houses have been targeted; it's not as if there'd ever be officers inside."

Harry gently massages his temples, knowing his prison visit is never going to happen now. These are the times he wishes Ruth were still here; a beacon of calm in all this chaos. It is hours before any information comes in, and when he sees Lucas, Jo, and Malcolm stood at his door, he can help but think of that saying about buses. You wait ages for one, then three come along at once.

"Harry," Malcolm begins softly,"there's been a spike in chatter; most of it to do with Range Finder. The general assumption is that our London safe-house network is severely compromised."

"You're sure it's about her?"

"We got some intel on the houses, Ros was the signature officer on all of them," Lucas announces. He's only spoken to Ros once, to inform her of Adam's death, but he knows what it's like to be left out in the cold. "Jo and I believe she's still alive."

"We still don't know where she is," Harry responds. "Knowing she's alive isn't going to help us get her back."

"That's why I've already started running the chatter through a program; it should hopefully establish a chain of contacts leading us to the source. It should provide us with a general search area to go on. At the moment, Europe seems to be of interest. "

Harry knows his clutching at straws but he also knows that his team won't be satisfied until this lead has been followed through until the bitter end. He doesn't know what Ros has been through to appear to have broken, but he can't help but roll his eyes that even then she's still running circles round them all.

"Jo, you're with me. Malcolm, as soon as you get anything, call me."

"Where are we going Harry?" Jo asks as they hurry out of Thames House and into a pool car.

"Airport."

_

* * *

Five days ago._

Ruth doesn't know what time it is when the door opens once more and Ros is thrown in with a dull thud. This time, Ros vomits where she lies. In the pale light, Ros' face is an array of blacks and blues; her lip is badly split and her nose is clearly broken. There are further bruises and cuts along her arms and legs, while her hands rest just out of view. The blonde lets out a painful moan and Ruth thinks she might just be in the same room as a corpse. She's considering going over to help the blonde when the woman's eyes shoot open.

"Oh thank God!"

"Ruth, we're leaving."

"When?"

"Tonight," she whispers hoarsely.

After listening intently to the plan outlined to her, Ruth can't help but feel apprehensive. She knows there's not that much difference between dying in a attempt to escape and dying as a result of torture, but she doesn't know when the latter will occur and quite naturally has this strange desire to live.

"The most important thing is to disarm as soon as possible."

"Ros, I don't thi-"

"We leave tonight or I break your neck while you sleep."

"Ros, what is going on?"

"Just make sure you get a gun."

'Tonight' comes sooner than anticipated, and Ruth is grateful for choosing the corner by the door. Her heart is pounding in her ribcage and her chest feels tight, reminiscent of the panic attacks she suffered during her childhood. She is just about to speak when a glance from Ros silences her; she has her orders, and speaking isn't one of them. For a brief moment, her mind goes blank as the cell-door swings open. The man makes it three steps into the room before Ruth manages to fell him with swift kick to the knees, followed by another to his upper back to push him to the ground. Hastily, she grabs his gun, releases the safety and aims. She exhales slowly, finger on the trigger, aware that Ros' eyes are on her. She starts when he slowly raises himself onto his knees.

"Ruth, get by me," Ros whispers, standing up using the support of the wall. "Stand by me and get ready to shoot."

Ruth slowly edges her way round to Ros' side, keeping the gun trained on their former(?) captor. She extends the gun further when he attempts to get to his feet.

"Shoot him."

She watches as he staggers onto his feet.

"Shoot him, now."

He moves forward and before she can do anything, Ros has taken the gun out of her hands and fired three shots; two to the chest, one to the head - Mozambique drill. Glancing to the side, Ruth can see that Ros is bleeding from the mouth and has wrapped her arms tightly across her abdomen.

"Take the gun and move," the blonde orders through gritted teeth.

Ruth leads the way through the small house, surprised to see a furnished kitchen complete with radio.

"Keys," Ros indicates to a room on their left with her head, before heading towards the front door.

The room is dimly lit but its purpose is clear, even in the semi-darkness. Ruth grabs the keys resting on the nearby table, ignoring the various instruments of torture and the wet, sticky sensation beneath her feet. Her hands tremble as she undoes the several locks and pulls open the door. The silence from Ros does nothing to soothe her nerves, especially when they step outside and the cold cuts through her.

"The car," Ros whispers.

Ruth has no idea how reliable the small hatchback is, nor how much petrol there is in the tank, but arguing with Ros doesn't seem like the wisest idea. The blonde slides across the driver's seat and waits for her companion to get in and start the vehicle.

"Drive."

"Where?"

"Just bloody drive, Ruth."

_

* * *

Two months ago._

Ben doesn't quite understand why they haven't just abandoned the search for Rosalind Myers. As far as he can see, she's nothing but a traitor who faked her own death. In all his training, nothing was said about the Service caring for those that had previously betrayed them. He remembers her steely reserve as she calmly pepper-sprayed that man in the lift, and the seductive tone in her voice as she tried to lure him out of hiding. Yet Harry still values her after everything, more than that, he trusts her. He wouldn't go this far out of his way if he didn't. The object of his thoughts storms through the pods without a word of hello, heading straight to his office and slamming the door shut with a 'thud' that resonates throughout the Grid.

"What's up with him?"

Jo's blue eyes are more intense than usual under a thin veil of unshed tears. "He was asked to identify a body that had been sent over."

"Was it her?"

"No. Not that it makes things better."

"Maybe she's just switched sides; she doesn't have the best track record."

"I wouldn't speak like that about the woman who saved your life."

"How did she do that?"

"Because if she'd wanted you dead, you'd be dead." Jo states simply, her voice taking on a flinty quality.

_

* * *

Four days ago._

They've been driving for a couple of hours when Ruth notices the fuel gauge needle waivering dangerously close to 'empty'.

"We need petrol."

Ros nods in agreement. "Pull over when it's safe and check the boot." She rolls her eyes at Ruth's questioning look. "For a petrol can and something we can use for pipe."

"You want to siphon petrol?"

Ros closes her eyes, unable to tell if the pain piercing her skull is to do with the beating she's recently taken or Ruth's sudden stupidity (she refuses to call it anything else).

"How else you suggest we obtain it?"

"A petrol station?" The analyst retorts.

"We have no money, we'd still be stealing the damn stuff but feel free to plaster your face all over CCTV."

Ruth is still making objections when they pass by a cottage and Ros orders her to stop.

"Here's perfect. Check the boot and then do exactly what I told you."

"I just don't think this is a good idea."

"Check. The. Boot." Ros states levelly in response.

Ruth's unease doesn't lessen as she searches for the necessary materials. Besides the petrol can and length of piping (their former captor obviously shared some aspects of Ros' morality), there are several black bin bags and a large roll of blue twine. She closes the door without a second thought.

"I've got everything," Ruth mutters through the rolled down window. "I'll be as quick as I can."

'Quick as she can' involves 45 minutes and one or two cock-ups. Ruth just thanks her lucky stars that the owners of the house were seemingly out or otherwise engaged. She receives no thanks for her efforts and they continue their journey in silence. She wonders if there is anything more to the blonde's plan than just driving until they run out fuel.

"Where exactly are we going, Ros?"

Her companion just gives an enigmatic shrug of the shoulders.

The former analyst continues to drive until night falls, and they pass by a disused farm building with no other residences nearby and relatively far from the beaten track. It's perfect. Ruth wordlessly opens the door for Ros and follows her into their shelter for the night. They settle down, but Ruth finds that sleep eludes her, all she can see is the corpse of that man with a pool of blood surrounding him. She glances over to find that Ros is already asleep, hands resting lightly on her torso. What little light there is reveals that all the fingers on her right hand are twisted, clearly broken.

"Ros..."

"Sleep."

Once more, she finds herself astonished that the woman before her shows no remorse, or even an acknowledgement of what she has done. The image of the dead man flashes before her eyes again, causing her to rush to the cracked basin against the far wall and empty the meagre contents of her stomach.

_

* * *

Two days ago._

Ros wakes to a searing pain in her wrists and hands. She isn't surprised by the pain in her fingers, but she assumed she'd merely sprained her wrist at the most. Now, the sensation coursing through her arm indicates a more severe injury. The feeling quickly extends to the rest of her body, hot needles stabbing at her flesh, and soon she cannot think for pain. Ros rolls her head to the side, the cool glass of the car window a welcome sensation beneath her clammy skin. Another wave of pain hits and before she can stop it, a low groan escapes her mouth. Ruth immediately wakes at the sound, and is chilled by the sight that greets her. The woman's dirty blonde hair is darkened further by sweat and her normally vivid green eyes have taken on a glassy, dull sheen.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit!"

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ros whispers.

Ruth barely manages to get the door open before the blonde empties the non-existent contents of her stomach onto the ground outside. Ros lets out a low cry when Ruth loosely takes her by the arm to pull her back into the car. The former analyst's chest contracts when she feels the heat radiating from her companion, and is made aware of just how horrendously swollen her left forearm is. Ros inhales deeply to help keep the pain at bay, knowing that she has to be semi-coherent to stop Ruth from doing anything drastic and decidedly stupid.

"I'm taking you to a hospital."

Like taking her to the hospital.

"I'm fine," she struggles to get out through gritted teeth.

"No, you're not."

"Don't be stupid...we're not far enough..."

"I don't care, you need medical help!" Ruth exclaims, her panic being half-replaced by irritation.

The reality of the situation is that Ros had fired a gun with a broken wrist, and now she has no idea how bad the break is or how much she's aggravated it. She exhales slowly as the hot, stabbing sensation subsides slightly, but not enough for her head to keep its loose grip on reality. The memories of her first 'interrogations' are startlingly fresh in her mind, and she struggles weakly as Ruth fights to put her seat belt on.

"Get off!"

"It's me, Ros. It's Ruth. I have to strap you in so you don't hurt yourself further, okay? I promise you can take it off when we get to the hospital. I promise."

The brunette keeps up a constant stream of conversation, more for her own benefit than the feverish woman sat beside her. She's grateful no one else is around as she's pretty sure she doesn't even have clearance for some of the words tumbling from Ros' mouth. Then comes one crystal moment of lucidity, just as Ruth catches sight of the illuminated hospital sign.

"I'm not afraid of dying. Never have been."

That terrifies Ruth.

_

* * *

Yesterday_

He's shocked, horrified, and delighted at the sight before him. Harry blinks once more to ensure it isn't a mirage, before stepping further into the hospital room. She looks painfully tired lying in her bed, and guilt surges through his veins as a little voice reminds him of the woman lying next to her.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, not as worse off as some," she answers softly.

"How is she?"

"The doctors say she'll be fine....they weren't there, I saw her Harry..." she whispers, rapidly blinking back tears.

"I'm so sorry Ruth; I thought you were safe."

"I am."

"I mean-"

"I know what you mean. I'm fine; he didn't hurt me, he really didn't."

"Oh, Ruth."

The compassion in his voice is her undoing. "We killed him. She just shot him down!" Ruth sobs into Harry's frame until she falls asleep.

He feels her cooling tears through the linen of his shirt and remembers not only the lifeless corpse in the concrete cell, but also the room streaked with blood, the lengths twine and rope, the car batteries, and the tub full of water made murky by god knows what. Harry closes his eyes, and is grateful that the woman in his arms didn't have the same motivations as Ros.

Jo enters, face impassive, staring intently at the recovering blonde. She wonders if Zaf would've looked like this after four months of torture; if the rhinoplasty bandages would've been a beacon in a sea of purple and yellowing bruises; if his wrists would've seemed as fragile bound in plaster; if she too would've struggled for a moment to recognise him as the person lying before her in a hospital bed.

"You should've stayed dead." Jo admonishes, knowing deep down it would've been impossible for Ros to do that.

The woman was the prodigal daughter of section D; each return a rebirth, as if she were trying to find the perfect beginning but failing more and more drastically with every attempt. This time, her fatted calf is an IV drip attached to a banana bag.

"You would've been safe."

Jo doesn't say 'happy'; it was futile to lie to Ros Myers, even when she was unconscious. Ros would never have been truly happy; the Service was her life. Until it wasn't.

"At least you and Ruth are back now."

Jo understands that things won't ever be like they were before, but they're that little bit closer.

* * *

Ruth turns her head at the sound of a groan coming from the bed beside. Secretly, she is pleased that visiting hours are finished for the day. It somehow feels right that this moment is only shared between them; she saw the blonde leave the world, and now she gets to see her return.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been tortured." Ros mumbled, eyes still closed, "How are you?"

"Fine."

"You're seeing him, aren't you?"

"I can't help it, I don't know what to do," she whispers.

"Move on." Ros states as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"And never look back?"

"If you care to reminisce over a former torture chamber and a corpse, be my guest."

"You killed a man, Ros. Have you no compassion at all?"

"Compassion?" Ros laughs, before hissing slightly. "You want me to show compassion to the man who never showed me an ounce for nearly four months. Oh, you really are naïve."

"I am not naïve!" Ruth snaps. "I just happen to think that killing a man is wrong!"

"Grow up Ruth, unless you were planning to let him kill you, there was no other choice."

"But we-you didn't have to _kill _him, Ros."

There is a long silence, and Ruth would almost believe she'd fallen back asleep if it weren't for the bunched tendons in her neck.

"You still haven't explained to me why we had to kill him."

"Like I said, he was going to kill us," Ros sighs as if she were explaining something to a very small child.

"You didn't know that."

"Right, the rope and black bags were for spring cleaning," she drawls.

"How did you- ?"

"Because sooner or later, our friend would've found out I'd been feeding him misinformation. Most probably when his friends showed up feeling just a tad miffed."

"Is that why you threatened to break my neck?"

"I really would've done it. You wouldn't have felt a thing, I promise."

Ruth nods slowly, trying to come to terms with this revelation. "What about you?"

"He probably would've garrotted me, or beaten me to death. One of the two."

"I can't believe you sometimes," Ruth murmurs, shaking her head. "Your attitude to life and death is so blasé."

"It might come as a surprise to you sitting up there on the 'moral high ground', but there are things out there that give death a run for its money from time to time," the blonde announces softly, already feeling exhaustion creep in.

"Oh really? Like what?"

"Like lying back and 'thinking of England' because that's what the operation requires."

"I'm sorry. Ros, I-"

"No. You do not get to feel pity. You do not get to do that to me." Ros shakes her head in annoyance. "Two broken hands were the least of my worries, but I shot him anyway because you didn't want to."

"I couldn't."

"No, you didn't want to. But _I _could do it, because you'd already passed judgement on me."

_

* * *

Today_

The relief on Ros' face is clear when the doctors say she's being transferred back to London this afternoon. She's sure Harry has something to do with the speedy turnaround, and is grateful at the thought of going home after so long. Jo brings her a change of clothes, which she takes with a smile even though the jeans are two sizes too big since her ordeal, and the shirt is pastel in tone. A nurse helps her into the outfit, retrieving a belt from lost property to prevent the denim from sliding off her skeletal hips. She starts slightly at the knock on the door, admonishing herself when Ruth's voice filters through the woodwork.

"The car's arrived."

Ros scowls at the wheelchair positioned by the door, but allows herself to be lead to it. As proud as Ros is, even she can recognise the exhaustion caused by her brief moments up and about. She learns from Ruth that Harry and Jo are waiting for them downstairs, she doesn't think to question why that's the case. It doesn't matter; she gets the answer the minute the lift doors slam shut.

"I'm sorry for judging you."

"Why? I do it everyday," the blonde replies simply.

"Yes, but I should've shot him"

"Ruth," she sighs wearily, "it really doesn't matter. We're alive and we're going home."

The analyst nods briskly as she heads towards the hospital exit and her friends.

"Besides," Ros calls out from just behind her, "you're a crap shot."

* * *

**_Please review!_**


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